


Sweet Talk

by cametobuyplums



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Minor Violence, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 18:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cametobuyplums/pseuds/cametobuyplums
Summary: In which the Winter Soldier is sent on a mission that requires him to don a tuxedo.





	Sweet Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Hello, loves. This was a request I received on Tumblr. It was also inspired by a particular shot of Sebastian in a suit on the Subway from oneminutemen: Milk. It's more Winter Soldier than Bucky, though.
> 
> Prompt: “Keep sweet-talking and this could go a whole new direction”

Of course he’s here. A party to celebrate a scientific breakthrough; no doubt that it must be high on Hydra’s agenda. Their organisation has never been as subtle as they think. At least, not to your and  _your_ organisation. An elite group of spies and assassins that have been around for as long as the earth is old, they make Hydra look like a preschool karate class. Hydra is seldom a bother though. That is, until they send  _him_. **  
**

Very few in the intelligence community believe of his existence and those of you that do, you call him the Winter Soldier. Credited with more kills than you can count on your fingers, you admit he’s efficient. Skilled. Disciplined. Not as much as  _you_  though. He might be a ghost but you’re a shadow. You were reborn in darkness, moulded by it. The Winter Soldier is merely a guest.

Winter, as you affectionately call him, still has much to learn. Looming at the bar, he has his back to you. Shyness, some might say. You know it’s preservation. Few missions entitle him to freedom from the mask. You’re yet to see his face but instantly, you recognise him as the fist of Hydra. The long hair that usually skims his shoulders is swept back into a neat bun that sits low. His tell is how stiffly he holds his left arm, hand shoved deep in his pocket. Hydra isn’t as careless to send him out in the open with his metal arm on display, but again, preservation.

Winter is trying to maintain a low profile, but not you. You hide in plain sight. A silky red dress with a hem that floats around your ankles. A split up the right side that teases at the bared skin of your leg. The sleeves start at your upper arms and end at your wrists, leaving your shoulders bare and an alluring amount of cleavage on display. Needless to say, a few heads turn in your direction as you sashay past. You pay them no mind. You’re on a mission.

Whiskey, neat. Your red lips leave no stain on the crystal glass. You’re too careful to allow such an oversight. Winter is oblivious, his back half-turned as he swills his own untouched glass of vodka around aimlessly. And then, he raises his head to scan the room. You’re treated to your first look at the face of your adversary.

Winter is  _handsome_ , strikingly so. A face chiselled by an artist, or better yet, God himself. Under that mask you’ve looked into so often, he bears a strong jawline dusted with neatly trimmed dark scruff. A slight cleft in his sharp chin. Plump pink lips that practically beg to be kissed, even if they are a little chapped. A deft nose and clearly cut cheekbones haunted by dark shadows under his eyes. Eyes that are a particular shade of blue-grey. Blank, no discernible expression, but swirling with secrets under the surface.

Winter’s eyes flit to yours for a moment as he scans the ballroom, quickly darting back to meet your gaze. You smile coyly, wondering if he recognises you just as you did him. His face is stoic, almost nervous as he tries a smile, cheeks straining and it’s obvious he’s unaccustomed to such practices. He keeps his distance, as do you. There’s no need to approach him. By the end of the night, he’ll come to you.

Filtering in and out of the evening’s festivities, you keep Winter in your periphery just as he keeps you in his. Intrigue, of the highest order. It comes to a dizzying height when you slip on spilled champagne, launching yourself at the man of the hour, the scientist himself. Shell-shocked at finding such a beautiful woman hanging off his arm- quite literally- his face is a priceless picture as he steadies you. A giggle, a bat of your eyelashes.  _Of course_  you’d like to give him your number. It’s ample time.

Predictability is Winter’s biggest weakness. An intricate game of chess, the trick is let him stay two steps ahead. After all, you’re one step further. Except he doesn’t know that yet. A smart man, he catches up soon enough.

You’re making your escape, slipping through a door to the museum stairwell. The roof is your objective, a change of clothes and your exit strategy hidden in a black holdall. You barely make it a floor when an arm flies out of nowhere and you’re hurled back against a wall. Steely eyes glare down at you, lips pressed tightly together and you can feel the cool metal of his hand pinning your shoulder.

“Oh, he likes it  _rough_ ,” you tease with a pout. “I would never have guessed.”

“Enough games,” he growls, fingers bruising your shoulder. “I know you have it. Where is it?”

“What, no pleasantries? Come on, Winter, don’t tell me you don’t recognise me.”

Twinkling eyes meet his blank ones. A flicker of confusion, the strain of thought evident as he studies you and every detail you offer. You roll your eyes at how long it takes. A customary narrowing of your eyes, one eyebrow arched. An expression he’s seen all too many times before. Typically when you beat him to the chase. As you expect, there’s that unmistakable growl again.

“ _You_.”

“Hi, honey. Did you miss me?”

Winter’s not in the mood for games, slamming your back against the wall once more and this time you visibly wince. Scanning you still, he’s frustrated by the lack of finding what he needs. Not one to make the job any easier for him, your merciless flirtations continue.

“See something you like?”

“Where is it?”

A snarl, more arousing than it should be. But when his eyes pierce you so and his jaw clenches into a hard line, it’s difficult to think otherwise. Devilish mischief pulls your red lips into a smirk. An ever so slight jerk of his head. He reads you well. You know how to entice him. You lower your eyes, torturously slow and he follows, stopping when you do at your cleavage. Your meaning plain and clear. A bite of your lower lip. He barks harshly.

“You’re a bitch.”

“Keep sweet talking and this could go a whole new direction.”

The stairwell door crashes open, metal clanging loudly against concrete. You don’t wait for Winter to react. A hand wraps around his nape and he freezes when you collide your lips with his. Your other hand zips through the air. The intruder, whoever they are, coughs pointedly before disappearing down the stairs. Silence resumes. Mouth slack with shock, Winter stares at you, breath falling in shallows huffs.

And for one moment, just one, you haven’t the heart to taunt him. An unknown emotion swirls in his eyes, more blue than grey right now. Brows closely knit together. A faraway expression. Neither happiness nor sorrow. He’s simply lost in thought as he casts his gaze back to you. His face dips close. He stops, hesitating. Breath fanning your face. He leans in again. A chaste peck. Tentative. Soft, despite his rough edges.

This time you’re the one left with no option but to comply. A deep groan signals the return of Winter’s aggression. His kiss is harsh, demanding. There’s little method to his touch. It’s abrasive and serves one purpose; to take what he wants. And somehow, some small part of you relents far more easily than it should.

Little attentiveness is shown to your pleasure, but it would make no difference because you’re already so  _aroused_. The tension that’s been mounting for long, it all comes to a staggering peak. A rush of cold air when he hurriedly hikes your dress up. Hands roughly curling around your thighs, the contrast of hot flesh and cold metal shooting pleasure down your spine. You skid up the wall, skin burning but the pain harmonises with the pleasure and you wrap your legs around his waist.

The cold air of the empty stairwell thickens. It’s so hot, suffocating,  _rushed_. Winter ruts against you, the hardness in his pants grinding almost cruelly against your core. One hand back against the wall to steady yourself, the other gripping his shoulder. You need him  _now_. Before either of you can change your mind.

Winter is desperate. A certain haste as he unceremoniously yanks his zipper down. Your panties, carelessly pulled aside. Hips in a punishing grip against the wall. A mewl when you feel the nudge of his hardened length. Your thighs clamp around him, urging him and he all but slams into you. His mouth covers yours, swallowing the scream that rips through you. It pleases him, he groans with satisfaction as he sets a ruthless pace.

Your fingers wind in his long hair, pulling it free of the low bun. Every bruising thrust is met with a yank at his dark locks. A harsh bite at your neck. A spiteful dig of your high heel into his ass. You’re almost stinging from every rough slide of his hard, thick cock. Both wound so tight, it takes little effort to push you over the edge.

A release that’s a cocktail of pure torment and utter ecstasy. You drown in it, clutching Winter like your life depends on it. But, it’s short lived. Reality dawning rapidly. He drops you, your quick reflexes allowing you to land steady even in your stilettos. A few moments punctuated only by your breathlessness. A spare minute to compose yourselves back into the seasoned assassins you are. A dared glance at Winter. He gives little away this time, face a mask as ever. But you’re not oblivious that turmoil that brew beneath the surface. A stare too long, a brittle glare and the temperature plummets.

Winter’s hand, thrust down the front of your dress. It’s without warning. A sigh as the cool metal grazes your hot breasts. He withdraws the USB you had stowed there. A bid to snatch it back. You’re slammed into the wall, a little less forcefully this time. That hard edge in his blue eyes. A whisper of wind. And he’s gone.

Leaning against the cold wall, your breathing never really does steady into a normal rhythm. Never did you expect your unhealthy rivalry to transpire in such a way. Questions flit through your mind. A spark of curiosity towards the man you’ll never know. Not really. A slow clap, a round of applause that echoes through the stairwell.

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt your daydream?”

The intruder from earlier. He laughs at your expense and you roll your eyes, holding out your hand expectantly. A USB flies through the air and you catch it neatly. Identical to the one Winter stole from you. A nasty surprise, that’s what it was really. A decoy. He let his guard down. You stayed a step ahead. Every move an elaborate part of your simple plan. So simple that he was bound to overlook it. One he’s undoubtedly going to be raging about in precisely nine minutes. More than enough time to make your getaway. He’ll catch up sooner or later. Perhaps you’ll sweet talk your way out of that one too.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hello on Tumblr](http://cametobuyplums.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [If you enjoy my writing please consider buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/cametobuyplums)


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